The Dread Pirate Read
by Sincerely Marigold
Summary: Inspired by her daughter's tyrannical headmistress, Wendy creates a new villain so that way Captain Hook doesn't have to be so alone. Light, silly and heavily influenced by the 2003 film.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Pre-WWII London

This was not Wendy's first visit to Ms. Franklin's office and it would not be her last. As she waited, the echo of her tapping foot resounded through the cavernous hallway of the empty schoolhouse. Her impatient taps grew louder by the minute, in hopes of concealing the angry cries of her daughter's tyrannical headmistress.

Poor Jane had persevered many stays in the office across the hall and now, another young girl was enduring the same fate. With courage, I might add. Her last victim, who made her leave just as Wendy arrived, exited the room in a shroud of tears. Wendy had yet to hear a single sniffle from this girl- thus far.

When the muffled yelling subsided, the door cracked open and a young girl raced to her freedom without a second to spare. Wendy looked on as she sprinted down the hallway, a brown cluster of perfectly permed ringlets trailing behind her like the tail of a shooting star. She turned a corner and was gone in a flash. Not a moment later, Wendy received her summon.

Her office was dark, cool and entirely immaculate. Not a single sheet of paper on her desk nor book along the meticulously papered wall was out of line. Several windows could be found between bookshelves and those inside of the office would have looked out on a snowy courtyard below, had Ms. Franklin not covered them with thick fabric. Wendy observed the gold-leaf writing on several of the books' leather spines as she passed. Her two hands nervously kneaded the lavender threads of her winter scarf. Mrs. Franklin scared even Wendy herself and she hoped to never let it show.

"Tick, tock." Ms. Franklin droned, clicking the crystal of her watch sharply with her fingernail. "Mrs. Bird, if you have come only to gawk at my Greek tragedies, might I suggest paying the library a visit instead?"

Wendy picked up her pace and took her seat in a lonesome wooden chair at the center of the room. It had been placed several feet from its owner's desk, as if to make a point; as if to make whoever sat in it feel as though they were in an interrogation room rather than in the office of an educator.

She spoke again, clasping her long, narrow fingers on the desk's brightly polished wood, "You wish to speak to me about Jane?"

"You are cruel to her." Wendy said simply. Despite the spike in her heartrate, it felt good to get that out. "Now, I know that she can be stubborn. But having to deal with a crying daughter each evening destroys me as a mother. She'll stay until classes end for the holidays. After that, I'm going to have her transferred."

As ever, the wicked headmistress remained unaffected. Threats and insults broke against her like waves against a seaside cliff. She rolled her shoulders and straightened her back, preparing herself for whatever else her visitor had to say. Wendy's hands returned inadvertently to the scarf, indicating that she'd spoken her part.

"Is that all, Mrs. Bird?" Her eyes, the same pale blue as shallow water, narrowed into two thin tidepool-like slits. "Very well. I'm certain that you know of your daughter's grade point average? Mrs. Bird, the majority of girl's programmes in this city don't take kindly to late arrivals, as I'm sure you know. Late arrivals with GPA's that are severely lacking, well… you can connect the dots. In addition, your daughter's interests are, frankly, useless to her cause."

"I'm afraid that I don't understand your reasoning, Ms. Franklin." Wendy stated with courage. "How can a woman who owns such a vast collection of literature think lowly of storytelling?"

"There is good storytelling, Mrs. Bird, the kind that cuts to the core of the human condition and exposes the raw, ugly truths that lie therein… and there is poor storytelling, the kind that riles up my students and compels them to slide down the banisters of my beautiful building with makeshift swords. Do you follow?"

Wendy withheld a smile and choked back a laugh. Jane had inherited her gift to entice nearly any audience with tales of pirates, princes and detailed swordplay. Perhaps "plague" was a better description than "gift", given the circumstances… "I'm afraid that I do. But surely there is some merit to be had in-"

"Behaving like a complete heathen?!"

"Entertaining," said Wendy with calmness. "Surely, you enjoyed similar tales as a child…"

"I was not given that luxury. Now, you have voiced your concern and I have listened. Would you please send Belinda in on your way out? You'll know her when you see her. She carries a ridiculous pink teddy bear."

Like before, Wendy dawdled on her way to the doorway. The idea of Mrs. Franklin shouting across her desk at a little girl with a teddy bear cramped her heartstrings. While she pushed this unpleasant idea to the back of her mind, the bookshelf that stood nearest the door caught her eye. The reason for this being it contained no books at all. Just several pictures with a recurring character in them who Wendy recognized as a young Ms. Franklin.

Now, Ms. Franklin was not an old woman. Although her occupation and stern disposition very well may have conjured up such an image in your mind. If that is the case, it might surprise you to know that she was around Wendy's age.

Behind her thick glasses and frown, she was still very much the young girl in those photos. The man and woman who accompanied her in nearly all of the images were her parents and the mighty fishing boat, The Franklin, that the three of them were either in front of or behind, belonged to her family. All other frames in this small collection held old autographed portraits from 19th Century British explorers. Most of them were made out to her father; but they appeared to be cherished all the same.

"I see what you mean, now. You didn't need stories as a child! You practically lived inside of an adventure!" Wendy exclaimed.

Ms. Franklin's round face rose like the moon from behind her paperwork. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd left."

"You know, Jane is very interested in exploration. Perhaps you could use your knowledge of the subject to bridge the gap."

One shake of her curly blonde head later, Ms. Franklin returned to her notes. "If you don't want me disciplining your daughter, Mrs. Bird, do it yourself."

During her cold walk to the bus stop, Wendy weighed her options. This was her daughter's second transfer in three years, after all. She remembered the dreadful Miss Fulsom who had challenged her curious spirit when she was around her daughter's age.

"Perhaps it is time for Jane to grow up," she thought. Those words troubled her. Because they were so familiar.

Before long, the bright red double-decker that would carry Wendy home came shooting around the corner. Once she was comfortably perched inside its metal frame, she shuffled through her briefcase and pulled out the means to write with. This was a habit she'd had since her childhood days, back when she wanted more than anything to be a novelist.

"Grown-ups aren't all that bad," she speculated, watching a peppering of snow twist and turn against the grey landscape. Her mind wandered to her soft-spoken father. He loved his children more than anything in the world and yet, she conjured up the antagonist of her favorite childhood story in his image. "Having been one for a while now, I have a deeper perspective of them. Even the ones that we believed to be the most wicked of villains."

Wendy imagined Ms. Franklin, surrounded by nothing but books and memories in her dark office. "What should I call her, I wonder?" She scribbled a name and took a moment to observe it.

 _The Dread Pirate Read…_


	2. Part I: The Arrival

**Part I**

 **The Arrival**

The sea was angry that night. Mighty waves surrounded the tiny fishing vessel, tossing it about like a leaf set adrift in the rapids. A storm on the sea gives little warning and when they arrive under the cover of night, they can wipe even the strongest of ships from the face of the earth- undetected. That is exactly what happened to The Patience and of her crew of twenty, only one would survive:

Francis Read was the captain's daughter. That being the case, she'd spent her whole life aboard The Patience and had no time for childish things. The tales of adventure that were exchanged by children on land never reached her ears; even if they had, they wouldn't have carried the same impact. She didn't necessarily dream of normalcy; but at seventeen, she'd plotted out her future and set it in stone.

Growing up, in her mind, was the golden key that would unlock the door that led to adventure. Therefore, Francis could not wait to grow up.

She was not aboard The Patience that night. Perhaps if she had left a note or given warning that she was casting off, the crew would have spent less time searching for her and more time preparing their lifeboats. But that was the tragedy of it all. The sea hungered for The Patience and her crew and her desires are rarely refused.

The waves twisted and turned, creating snowcapped mountains of blue and white around her. She could no longer see The Patience. By this time, the sea had swallowed her whole. Francis attempted to ride the giant's backs. She understood the anatomy of waves and could, for the most part, predict and anticipate their thoughts. If she could just remain steady and work her way from the eye, her small wooden boat would not capsize.

Their battle of wits continued- this clever girl and the monstrous blue. The ache grew stronger in her arms, causing them to lock. The briny sprays of water stung in her eyes, preventing her from seeing. She had fought valiantly, but the sea was far more clever and strong. The oar was claimed first and then the boat was set about in violent spirals like a spinning top. Francis clung to the bench with every last ounce of strength. As the waves rolled over her and the cold water shot into her lungs, she cursed her tenacity.

All that she ever wanted was a ship of her own; to make sailing to the far reaches of the earth her occupation. Now, as with so many who love the sea, it was going to be her demise.

Although its owner had given in, the little wooden boat seemed to have an alternate plan. After several moments of full immersion, it pierced through the waves and, as if possessed by some strange magic, carried Francis to calmer waters. The sky was still dark and menacing and the waves were still fierce, but there was something on the horizon that seemed to beckon. Land.

Had Francis been awake, she would have believed it to be mere illusion. Despite the all-consuming greyness, it was unlike any formation of land that she had witnessed on her parent's fishing routes in the polar regions. Instead, it appeared to be an amalgamation of mountain, jungle, valley and beach. As the tide carried them closer, the dark figure of a ship materialized.

Mr. Smee was on watch and as, ever, the parrot was doing a far better job than he. One shrill cry from the bird's little red throat later, he hopped to attention. His poor eyesight failed him, but only momentarily. There was a figure being spun about by the dark waves, yes, but he needed to adjust his glasses in order to figure out what it was. It wasn't the passenger that caught his eye and instead, the name on the stern: "Little Fan".

"PAN!" The old man hollered, bouncing towards the nearby bell. "PAN! PAN!" He shouted along with each loud "clang".

To avoid any confusion, "Fan" was a pet name and short for "Francis". A combination of sleepiness, bad eyesight and perhaps most of all, power of suggestion, caused this misinterpretation.

Everyone aboard the Jolly Roger scrambled on deck. They drew their swords and looked to the cloudy skies, impatiently awaiting whatever playful antics their nemesis had prepared this time. A synchronized shudder took over the crew as the voice belonging to Captain Hook sounded from inside of the ship's cavernous belly.

"SMEE!" Came the voice, frantic and boisterous. "SMEE!" He stayed below, but his tall shadow remained glued to a pool of lamplight on the wall. "Where is Pan!?" It should have been hilarious to the crew, to see him cowering like an infant below deck. But they were much too afraid of their silly captain, even in his newly wounded state, to laugh or poke fun.

"Hiding behind a cloud, I assume?" Suggested the notoriously hideous Alf Mason.

As Mr. Smee shook his head in response, his little red hat flopped from side to side. He pointed to the churning waters. "Right there. In the brown boat. See? Pan…"

One by one, they spotted the object and headed towards the railing for a better view. Several telescopes were whipped out. But the little boat was no longer spinning, so nobody managed to glimpse the writing on the stern.

"I can tell you one thing, Mr. Smee," Alf Mason said, still trying (and failing) to sound intelligent, "there is no Peter Pan in that boat."

Mr. Smee crossed his arms and headed towards the corner where Hook's shadow stood. "Whaddaya say, Cap'n? Full speed ahead?"

When there was no response, Mr. Smee stole below. He found that Hook was not in his typical captain's attire, but white bed clothes. On his face, he wore the most terrible melancholy.

"I'm a wreck, Smee." He bemoaned, clinging to a collection of harpsichord music that he could no longer play with his one good hand. "Leave it to Pan to disturb me while I am still at my most vulnerable!"

"The boat is approaching." Several voices called from above. There is a girl on board."

This new discovery seemed to pull Hook out of his theatrics. If not, temporarily.

"A girl?!" He sneered, climbing the wooden stairs, noisily.

Several crewmates burst out laughing to see the pajamas that Hook was sporting, but he didn't seem to mind in the moment. He pulled a telescope from one man's unsuspecting clutches and found the fast-approaching object. Francis Read had not only regained consciousness, but was looking right at him. Her round face was hidden behind several clouds blonde hair. She looked very much like a tentative moon, seeking a clear sky after a storm. The fear that her first glimpse of the Jolly Roger had conjured was evident in her face.

"Mr. Smee?" Hook asked his portly sidekick as he scrambled to his side. "What is it that Pan loves most of all?"

"Pranking you, Cap'n?" He wrung his hands.

"NO! No, you dolt! He loves fairytales." Mr. Smee nodded, but was still rather lost. So, Hook continued his thought as he nonverbally beckoned the attention of his crew. "And what, pray tell, do fairytales contain?"

"Fairies with tails?"

Hook was not amused and his patience was wearing thin. "A damsel in distress," said he, with as much calmness as he could find. His piercing blue eyes took on a new shade at the very thought of baiting Peter Pan. He turned around and faced his men. They, too, appeared to be anticipating his order. "Well, don't just stand here, you sorry lot! Capture the brat and tie her to the mast!" He lifted the telescope to his eye and started to scan the clearing horizon. "We're going to have a little fun…"


	3. Part II: Hook

**Part II**

 **Hook**

For hours, the sun radiated a sweltering heat onto the deck. Poor Francis observed the motley crew from her restraints on the mast. The pirates seemed terrifying at first, yes, but after watching them for an extended period of time, she gained an appreciation for just how ridiculous they were.

After while, the heatwave seemed to dissipate and the air grew mild once more. Francis saw something appear in the corner of her eye- a thick winter coat had been stuffed inside a wooden bucket and raised to her height by Mr. Smee with a rope. She looked down and shrugged as best she could.

"For the blizzard!" He shouted. Although he was far away, Francis could connect the crooked line of a smile between his rosy cheeks.

"What!?" Francis asked, completely baffled. Just then, a breath of cold wind pierced the warm air and tiny flakes of ice started to fall from the heavens. "While I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Smee, I'm afraid that you've bound my hands." Again, ridiculous. But charmingly so. Surely, she'd slipped into a very strange dream with incompetent pirates and chaotic weather patterns.

Why, even Captain Hook himself seemed amiss. Her parents ran The Patience with great efficiency and everyone on board worked hard to keep everything in perfect order. The Jolly Roger, in comparison, was a sitting duck. It seemed to function for one purpose alone and that was to capture whoever Francis was baiting at the moment. This "Peter Pan" character.

Every now and then, Francis would catch sight of Hook. Even when he was out of sight, however, she could still hear his loud fits of rage coming from the captain's quarters. Most of his aggression seemed to be directed to the harpsichord that he was trying and failing to play. "Lazy swine," she thought, "if he doesn't chart a course and get us out of the lagoon, I'll be forced to commandeer."

"Mr. Smee?" Francis called below, a white puff of breath spilled from her mouth. At this point, the water surrounding the ship was starting to ice over. "Shouldn't we find a mooring? This cannot be good for the ship."

Mr. Smee looked up from the game of poker that he and a curious looking man called "Noodler" were playing on top of a barrel. He adjusted his eyeglasses, acting almost as if he'd never seen Francis before in his life. Then, he waddled towards the staircase that led below deck.

"Cap'n!" He called, indiscreetly. "Cap'n, I don't think he's coming today." A low moan followed from below. Francis couldn't help but laugh at this. "Also," Mr. Smee proceeded, "well, seeing as the girl will be no use to us if she freezes to death…"

The cold really was of no concern to Francis. Although The Patience made berth in England, its fishing route passed through the northernmost waters of the globe. But the idea of being able to come down from the mast and stretch her legs for a while was far too appealing to pass up. So, she didn't protest as Mr. Smee climbed the mast.

"Same principal as last time, Miss," he said, untying her hands and allowing her to go ahead of him, "mind your footing and don't look down."

"I've probably climbed more masts than all your men combined!" She stated, picking up her pace and cutting through the frozen air like a knife.

"Rather smug for a hostage, wouldn't ya say, Cap'n?" Mr. Smee directed to a slamming door below.

Before her feet could hit the deck, she was seized by the Hook's strong arms. "Incredibly smug." He confirmed, bounding her hands as best he could a scratchy rope. He spun her around and knelt so that his face was level with hers. She hadn't seen him up close before. Even when she was first taken captive, he seemed to hide in the shadows. Truth be told, he hadn't had a good look at her before, either.

"What is your name, girl?" His features seemed almost monochrome beneath the grey sky, only his blue, glittering eyes seemed to possess any color.

"Francis Read." She mimicked his menacing gaze as best she could.

"Miss Read," said Hook with the smallest of nods, "and how old might you be?"

"Seventeen. Does it matter?"

Hook stepped behind Francis and led her, unwillingly, across the deck. She could see the plank appear from out of the corner of her eye and breathed a sigh of relief when they passed it; knowing far well that not even she could successfully swim ashore in the cold waters below.

"Of course, it matters. A girl of seventeen should address her elders with respect, don't you think? Especially those who spared you such a dreadful fate." He gestured to the falling snow, theatrically.

As they approached the staircase, Hook signaled for her to go first. It was supposed to be gentlemanly, but hardly came across that way.

"If you're planning on tying me up again after the sun comes out, well… let me put it this way, I'd rather freeze in the snow than melt in the sun any day."

Originally, Francis believed that he was leading her to a cell. As with the plank, her expectations were cheated once again. They passed through a long, wooden corridor that led to Hook's chambers.

"You should have thought of that before you became bait, my pet!" He cried as he pushed her through the elaborate doorway.

When she hit the ground, Francis noticed that the floor was terribly cluttered. As a matter of fact, the entire room was in shambles.

"You're obviously going through some sort of a crisis." Francis stated, matter-of-factly as she struggled to launch herself from the ground with her bound hands. An impossible task.

"There we go again with the smugness!" Hook crossed his arms, reveling somewhat in her distress. After several moments of watching her roll about atop the mess of sheet music, books and playing cards, he lifted Francis to her feet. "You are probably wondering why I brought you here."

"Captain Hook, over the last twelve hours, I've disappeared into the blue of the Denmark Strait, been held captive by your merry band of misfits, spent two seasons tied to a mast… all while listening to the worst harpsichord music known to man… at this point, anything goes." She expected that he would take offence. But during this brief time in his presence, Hook proved to himself to be a living riddle time and again.

"I should gut you, girl." He said, circling around her like a vulture. "But cleverness is a rare commodity amongst my crew." Francis chuckled and nodded in agreement. Hook's pacing continued. "I may gut you yet." The silver hook that he used in the place of his missing hand glistened in the low light. He held it high for Francis to see as he attempted to make one final loop around the room. Before he could reach her, he stubbed his toe against a pile of books and howled in pain like a child.

"Serves you right!" Francis snapped. "How on earth can captain keep a ship afloat if he can't even take charge of his own space!"

When the howls finally stopped, some thirty hilarious seconds later, Hook swooped in and continued what he believed to be a scare tactic. "And what does a silly girl like you know of keeping a ship afloat?" He asked, resting the hook against her throat.

"Untie me and I shall tell you."

He took a second to weigh his options. She had no place to escape to and appeared to be honest. Before following through with her wishes, Hook shut the door, just to be safe. As he tore through her bonds, he noticed that her hands were rough and strong.

"You're a sailor." Hook confirmed as Francis wrung out her aching wrists.

"Since before I could walk." She crossed to the harpsichord and before Hook could protest, she played a simple, one-handed melody. Hook was silently fascinated, but covered it well. "And I'd very much like to find a way back to my ship. I assume you know these waters?"

"Better than anyone around! SMEE!" He chuckled slightly, hoping to relieve any awkwardness that his outburst had caused.

"That's what I like to hear. I know your type. An eye for an eye."

"You mean an aye for an aye?!" Hook beamed, trying to be witty.

Before Francis could finish her thought, Mr. Smee burst through the door. "Cap'n?"

"Mr. Smee, find some rum and have the crew prepare a feast for our honored guest. I see a very important negotiation on the horizon…"


	4. Part III: Bargain

**Part III**

 **Bargain**

Francis spun her glass in thought, creating a golden whirlpool of rum in the palm of her hand. Although she was convinced that she had landed in a dream, suggestions of reality were gradually presenting themselves. The most prominent of these suggestions, oddly enough, was the effect that the alcohol was beginning to have on her. By the time she had reached her teenage years, drinking was already an essential part of her life. The crew aboard The Patience would drink, not only for social reasons or as a coping mechanism while missing faraway loved ones, but for warmth in the freezing climate. Despite her small build, she could down three drinks before feeling anything- she was on her forth.

"My point is this," said Francis, throwing back the remainder of her rum and peering through the bottom of the cup as though it were a spyglass, "It's a fine island. Truly. But there's really no point in captaining a ship if you don't plan on sailing anywhere else, is there?"

The edge of Hook's moustache twitched, he had his reasons for remaining just off the mainland. Furthermore, he understood that there really wasn't much to be explored in the waters surrounding Neverland. The world that Francis had spoken of was out of reach at best; she was as good as stranded on a distant star. Although he truly was interested in learning about how she ended up there in the first place, how he could benefit from her presence remained in the forefront of his mind.

"Assuming you are successful- and I'm almost certain you will be, I may have a reason yet to abandon these shores and return you to… where was it again?"

"The Denmark Strait." Francis replied, never pleased with having to repeat herself.

"The Denmark Strait."

"Not quite the Bermuda Triangle." She placed her hand over the top of her glass as Hook attempted to top it off. The rum had already cast its strange spell on her logical mind and yet, she continued with her attempts to string the pieces that she had been presented with together. "You sail by the stars, yes? So, you must be at least a little bit familiar with astronomy. Now, I know that it's just a theory and logically, only applies to outer space, but it almost seems as though I've gone through a wormhole and ended up here. Since I was unconscious when it happened-"

"You're thinking much too hard." Hook coaxed, still intent on filling her glass for a fifth time. "We will simply retrace your steps once you have satisfied your half of the bargain."

He twirled the bottle of rum about with his only hand, mimicking Francis' whirlpool. In the low lighting and perhaps with some help from her drinking, Francis was beginning to appreciate just how handsome of a man he was. Hysterical? Yes. A total baby? Even more so! Effeminate? On occasion. But handsome nevertheless.

"Yes." Francis moved her hand out of the way, accepting his offering, finally. "You want me to help you. But what will you have me do, exactly?"

"You're going to catch me a fairy."

Laughter- and an inevitable sprinkling of rum exploded from her mouth and all over poor Hook's face. He looked as though he'd been slapped across the face with a wooden plank.

"There is no such thing as fairies!" She exclaimed, hardly feeling sorry for what she had just done.

Normally, Hook would not have let this slide, but a wicked smile descended on his face like a shadow.

"Try saying that ten times fast!"

Francis took this request far too literally and Hook couldn't have been more delighted. She counted on her fingers, not making a single slur or mistake.

"And ten times again!"

And it was so. He would have requested a third time, had Mr. Smee not clambered through the door with a large, steaming tray and of course, more rum.

"Hope you saved room for the second course, Miss Read!" Said the jovial old man. He could tell by both of their expressions, not to mention the laughs that had escaped through the door just moments ago, that their time together was going well. "Of course, good food always plays second fiddle to good company!"

"I was just telling Francis about fairies." Hook mentioned, slyly. "Would you care to reiterate your thoughts on them to Smee?"

Francis looked at both men. "There is no such thing as fairies." As they applauded, she flushed. It almost seemed as though they were making fun of her. "I'm speaking from my own experience, of course. Why? Are there actually fairies in… what did you say this place was called again?"

"Neverland." Smee beamed. "The fairies here are nasty little pranksters and brutes. Fortunately for us, every time we say-" Hook and Smee glanced at one another and repeated the mantra in unison, "a fairy drops dead!"

"So, if you are after one particular fairy, why don't you and your crew sit around and chant… there is no such thing as fairies… for however long it takes for it to-?"

"You think we haven't tried just that!?" Interrupted Hook, childishly. "There are more fairies in Neverland than there are stars in the sky! And the one who tags along with Pan is just as wickedly clever as her master." He noted the concern on Francis' face, "But don't worry, Miss Read, I can tell even after our brief time together that you are far more clever than both of them combined!"

Like Hook, Francis responded well to praise. In the end, it was this compliment in addition to her task-oriented nature that propelled her to agree to take on this peculiar task.

"Well, I suppose…" Said she, with some carefulness. "If I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well make myself useful. I assume you want me to befriend this Pan?"

"NO!" Shouted Hook, a bright flash of red covering his blue eyes.

Mr. Smee was far less disturbed by this response than Francis. "That's actually not a bad idea." He shrugged. "Assuming she doesn't forget which team she is playing for."

They both eyed Francis closely.

"You fellows have the ship and have agreed to help me find my way home," she convinced them, "so, if you're worried that I won't hold up my end of the bargain-"

"Tell you what…" Hook interrupted, yet again. "since your journey home is likely to be a lengthy one, how about I make you first mate of The Jolly Roger for however long it takes to get you back?"

Now, as I mentioned before, the deepest desire of young Francis Read's heart was a ship of her very own. She had never been aboard a ship so impressive; not even in her dreams. She stared across the table, diving deep into the blue, calculating eyes of Captain Hook.

"Captain." Francis bargained. "You shall make me Captain."

You could have heard Mr. Smee's jaw hit the floor, but Hook hardly moved. He mirrored her gaze and challenged it.

"First Mate," he twirled the end of his moustache in thought, "and the impressively terrifying title of 'The Dread Pirate Read' for as long as you decide to grace us with your presence. That is my final offer."

Francis reclined, still refusing to shake his hook or hand- whichever one he should offer her first. "The Dread Pirate Read," she mused, "I suppose that has a nice ring to it. Okay, speaking strictly in the realm of 'what if'- let us suppose that I decide to stay on and 'earn my salt', so the saying goes, tenfold. Might I be so bold as to ask what the odds are of my ever captaining this fine brig?"

As this question sunk in, Francis saw a thousand thoughts flash across Hook's handsome face. On the one hand, she was defiant, rude and had given him ample reasons to make her walk the plank. On the other hand (or hook, just to be cloying), she was a well-versed sailor and just the right balance of ruthless and witty to be the makings of a fine pirate.

"You're getting ahead of yourself," said Hook with calmness, "but your service and loyalty to me shall never go unrewarded. Any deviation from your duties- and this shall include speaking to me with such rudeness ever again, you will be stripped of your merits and fed to the crocodile. Do I make myself clear?"

Francis didn't nod. Instead, she extended her hand and the two shared a tense, painfully tight, white-knuckled handshake.

"Alright, Dread Pirate Read," Hook glared, still refusing to give Francis back her hand, "let me tell you everything I know about capturing fairies."


	5. Part IV: The Lagoon

**Part Four**

 **The Lagoon**

The instructions that Hook had given Francis were vague at best. She knew what Pan's fairy looked like and the places that the two liked to frequent. He told Francis of her fondness for jewels and pretty things and also mentioned that she was jealous to a fault. Occasionally, Hook would see the little fairy plucking jeweled combs from the heads of mermaids as they conversed with Pan. She also had numerous stashes of beads and trinkets that she had stolen from Princess Tiger Lily in the hollows of trees throughout the island.

Going off of what they knew, Hook and Francis created a character for her to play with a fully fabricated backstory: she was an aristocratic runaway called "Lady Fan of Denmark" who happened upon the shores Neverland when her boat was lost in a tempest. To add appeal, Hook leant Francis some of the dazzling attire from his own collection of stolen treasures that he had aboard The Jolly Roger. Most importantly, he gave her a bosun's whistle on a silver chain that would summon both Hook and his crew with a single call.

She thought it wise to use her own boat and carefully assessed it for any damage before casting off. There never was a crossing from sea to shore that was more flawless and smooth. Gentle waves coaxed her small boat forward as though the beach and its hull were compatible magnets. Once ashore, Francis found that the land below her feet had a similar, magnetic effect, but in a different sense of the world. Every worry or care that she had about the task at hand seemed to slip away. She felt in her heart a strange levity, reminiscent of the memory of her first solo boat ride. Just like the golden rum that Hook shared with her in his captain's quarters, Neverland was beginning to cast a spell on her heart and mind.

Francis was too preoccupied throughout the evening and even during her crossing to pay attention to the sky. On the beach, however, something rather miraculous happened in the heavens above and she was lucky enough to witness it. The same favorable breeze that had assisted her earlier was beginning to round up the clouds and move them out to sea. This unveiled a truly fantastical glimpse of a thousand multi-colored nebulas, twisting and turning mere miles above her head.

Life aboard The Patience meant optimum stargazing opportunities for Francis, but like the elaborate cabins of The Jolly Roger, these were nothing short of makings of dreams…

Francis found a place behind a large rock, where Hook could not spot her, and watched the sky for a while. The "costume" that he had leant her was surely as valuable as it was ornate, so she made sure that the sand was dry before lying down. Just as the playful nebulas were growing tired of their dance and escaping two by two like couples exiting a starry ballroom, Francis heard a lovely ensemble of lilting voices coming from the nearby lagoon.

"Those must be the mermaids," she thought, sitting up and dusting herself off as quietly as she could, "I'll need to take a better look to be sure."

She weaved between the rocks on the moonlit beach and headed towards the jungle. The crystalline waters of the lagoon could be seen with clarity, even through the many vines and branches that stood in the way. Before Francis could confirm that the muffled singing voices belonged to mermaids, their song was rudely interrupted by a strain of several very loud splashes. Each splash sounded to Francis like someone had dropped a large sack of flour from a considerable height into the water below.

Then, laughter. From her place in the glade, she could see a handful of strangely dressed young boys playing in the water. Several iridescent tails stood out as their owners, the mermaids, disappeared shyly into the depths.

"The boys must have scared them away, shame." Francis muttered, losing interest.

Moving inland to search for the fairies seemed like a wise choice; but before leaving the scene, the boys' laughter transitioned into terrible screams. The mermaids, who Francis had believed earlier to be shy, were seizing the boys and dunking them under the water in an attempt to drown them.

It is worth nothing that although Francis Read had recently signed on as a pirate and was, for all intents and purposes, sanctimonious, bossy, and stubborn as a mule… there was a great deal of goodness to her as well. Furthermore, drowning was one sensation that she knew all too well. So, she ran to their aid without question.

The only item that Hook had given her as a means of self-defense was the bosun's whistle. Since that was useless in this moment, she removed several gemstone rings from her fingers and a strand of pearls from around her neck. According to Hook, these items were from a long since passed voyage abroad and never belonged to anyone on the island. Therefore, they would serve her well as bargaining chips.

"You there!" Francis called, stepping out on a large rock by the edge of the dancing waters. She repeated herself twice before successfully distracting the mermaids. "I have come to negotiate the freedom of those… unusually dressed children." At the sight of the glistening jewelry, they abandoned their victims and started to swim towards her, entranced. Her plan was working.

A dark-haired mermaid, who Francis assumed to be the eldest, was the first to speak. "I will need to have a closer look," said she, reaching for the strand of pearls, "rhinestones and false pearls are of no value in our cavern of jewels."

Francis knelt, allowing the mermaid to weigh the pearls in her porcelain palm. "My, how exquisite! Sisters! Come and see…" As they approached the rock, Francis saw the boys dispersing into the jungle. She didn't realize how poor her judgement had been until she was yanked violently into the water from the other end of the pearls.

There was no warning and therefore, no time to take in a breath of air before going under. Francis could feel her nose and chest burn as her lungs filled with saltwater. Within moments of struggling for her freedom, the green jungle, the brown rock and the blue waterfall turned to black. It felt quite different from drowning and more like a dark paralysis. In what felt to be her last moment of consciousness, Francis recalled the only other time in her life that she felt this sensation: before waking up in Neverland.

"Could it really be that simple?" She wondered, giving in to the undertow. "Could I have happened upon the portal home?" Unfortunately, she would never find out. A strong pair of hands (two hands, no hooks), grabbed hold of her shoulders and lifted her to safety just in time…


End file.
